Episode 05, VS75 Letters
by Voyager Season 7.5
Summary: Communication with the Alpha Quadrant...


letters.htmlVIRTUAL SEASON 7.5  
episode 5  
Letters  
  
  
Concept by Rick  
Edited and compiled by CyberMum  
Written by: Voyager Season 7.5 writing staff  
  
Prologue  
  
It happened once a month, in a pattern established nearly a year earlier; the   
atmosphere on Voyager underwent an abrupt change, and a sense of fervent   
expectancy gripped the crew. Duties were still performed as usual, orders given   
and followed, briefings attended, reports filed and logs recorded. Off-duty   
companionship in various forms was sought and shared, holodeck scenarios played   
out, parties to commemorate birthdays, holidays, and other special events   
planned, talent nights and sporting competitions arranged, and bets placed on   
everything from which department would rank highest in Seven's next unannounced   
efficiency survey, to who would win the current week's pool or velocity   
tournament. But, superimposed upon it all, a new focus emerged as the moment   
approached when the datastream window would open and letters would again be   
exchanged with those back home in the Alpha quadrant.  
  
The increased level of anticipation and purpose always took hold a day or two   
before that moment. The crew in various numbers retreated to quarters, or sat   
with a cup of coffee or tea in a quiet corner of the mess hall, or found a   
comfortable chair at one of the observation windows with a view of the vast   
expanse of space that still separated them from old friends and family. Then,   
PADD or pen in hand, they composed the letters they would be sending home, or   
added finishing touches to letters they'd been preparing since the last   
datastream transmission.  
  
Once finished, those letters were gathered and transformed into data bits ready   
to be transmitted through the datastream. After the transmission was completed,   
and the incoming data was received and decoded, the letters that had come over   
twenty-five thousand light years in the opposite direction to Voyager were   
distributed among the crew. The element of delay was always present--the   
incoming letters responding to the news, gossip, personal revelations and   
requests contained in the crew's letters from the previous month's   
transmissions--but each and every missive was enthusiastically welcomed   
nonetheless.  
  
The letters were read and reread, and filed away to be answered in turn in the   
next month's outgoing letters. Then the crew returned full attention to their   
duties and lives on Voyager, until the moment approached when communication   
would be reestablished once more.  
  
That moment was again at hand.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry looked up from the PADD he was working on with a shake of his head. Tom   
would kill him for missing tonight's 400 meter relay practice, but he really   
wanted to finish this letter. His mother's last letter had, again, asked about   
his love life. He chuckled. What was it about parents and grandchildren--or in   
his case, the lack of a girlfriend and no grandchildren?  
  
He again wondered just what B'Elanna was up to. She'd managed to convince   
Janeway she needed to use the bulk of the data stream transfer to the Alpha   
Quadrant. And it had been his turn to send a video letter. Next time.  
  
  
From: Ensign Harry Kim,  
U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
To: Mr. & Mrs. John Kim  
Router Heading: Sector 004; Monterey; California  
119847621  
Stardate 54382.4  
  
  
Personal and Confidential  
  
Dear Mom and Dad,  
Sorry that I can't talk to you in person this  
month. I know that you were looking forward  
to it. Unfortunately, Captain Janeway made an  
announcement earlier today telling us that we  
would have to record letters this month due  
to a data exchange with Starfleet Command  
that would be taking up most of the time  
allotted for data transmission. The entire  
crew, including the Captain herself, is to  
write letters instead.  
  
So where did we leave off last time? Hmm...  
Oh right, you were asking if I had a  
girlfriend. Well to be totally honest, no.  
For a while I was dating one of the Delaney  
sisters. Megan Delaney, actually. And then I  
did date Susan Nicoletti, but nothing ever  
came of that.  
  
So after 6 years out here on Voyager I'm  
still a bachelor. Tom teases me every now  
and then about having developed a crush on  
Seven, but the truth is that I just really  
admire her. She is so intelligent, and she  
is able to solve all sorts of problems in  
ways that no one else would even think of.  
Okay, so maybe I do still have a little bit  
of a crush on her, but really, who wouldn't.  
Besides, Mom, you always told me to go for  
the best, and Seven is definitely one of the  
best on board this ship. I know what you're  
going to say about her being a Borg and all..  
but she's had several chances to rejoin the  
collective, and aside from one or two early  
attempts that failed, she has never decided  
to go back.  
  
You don't have to tell me... I already know.  
I'm hopeless. I'm always putting my heart  
out there to the wrong girl. Isn't that what  
you're going to say, Dad? And maybe you are  
right. Maybe I am always putting my heart  
out there for the wrong girl. Sometimes I  
wonder if I should be putting my heart out  
there at all. But then I get lonely out  
here too, and if you don't have something to  
take your mind off of it, a 25 year journey  
home can sure seem like a long way.  
  
This is, I guess, as good as anywhere. Who  
told you I did what? Please Mom and Dad,  
don't believe everything the rumor mill tells  
you. I have no idea where this one even got  
started, but I have not been trying to sleep  
with every women on this ship. Sorry, I  
didn't mean to be so blunt, but I can't have  
you believing me capable of this. Now Tom--  
before he was married that is--might have  
tried. And I've heard Hugh (you remember  
Hugh--he used to date Libby's cousin, Teresa)  
and Jack have made a pretty good attempt  
at... I see I'm just as guilty as the person  
who started the rumor that worried you.  
  
Well, I've got to get going. I have a duty  
shift on the bridge in ten minutes. Give my  
love to the family - oh, and please don't  
forget to give some envelopes to the cousins  
for me. I've made arrangements with  
Starfleet to credit your account with some of  
my acquired pay. I'd also like you to buy  
Libby something for her wedding. Thanks for  
telling me--I'd hoped she found someone else.  
  
Your son, Harry  
  
PS I'm still an ensign. If everyone received  
the promotions we deserve; we'd be a ship  
full of Admirals and nothing would get done.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
All was quiet on the bridge. Janeway was sequestered in her Ready Room sifting   
through her latest round of reports, while Tuvok was in the holodeck making   
adjustments to his latest training program. Harry was in Astrometrics enlisting   
Seven's help on a project he was working on, and Tom was spending quality time   
with his wife. Their monthly correspondence with Earth had improved the morale   
of the crew immensely, the bits of news and personal data they received making   
them feel a bit closer to their loved ones. Chakotay himself had been   
corresponding with his cousin in Ohio, and the latest letter had included a   
miraculous surprise: his younger sister Maya had not only survived the   
extermination of the Maquis, but was alive and well on their home world. The   
news had filled him with joy, bringing to mind memories of summers spent getting   
into mischief with friends while a worshipful Maya shadowed his every move. She   
had been a constant light in his life since the day at five years old he had   
looked into her tiny infant face and proclaimed her to be his personal ray of   
sunshine.  
  
Hearing the doors open behind him, Chakotay glanced over his shoulder and saw   
Tuvok walk onto the bridge. "Finished tweaking your training program?" he   
prompted.  
  
"Yes," Tuvok confirmed. "I believe the upgrades I have implemented will   
substantially increase the efficiency of the training exercises."  
  
The XO hid a smile. "I'm glad to hear it," he said, and rose to his feet. "Well   
everything seems to be status quo, so I'm going to leave the bridge in your   
capable hands and take care of some personal business. The captain's in her   
Ready Room, but shouldn't be disturbed unless there's an emergency."  
  
"Aye, Commander."  
  
Relinquishing command to Tuvok, Chakotay made his way to his quarters. After   
replicating himself a mug of spice tea, he grabbed a data PADD and settled on   
the couch. His letter for this month was for his sister, an attempt to put into   
words what had transpired over the last six years of his life.  
  
  
From: Chakotay,  
First Officer, U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
To: Maya Lupes  
CMO Dorvan Medical Center  
Router Heading: Sector 047; Dorvan V Colony  
276478341  
Stardate 54382.4  
  
  
Personal and Confidential  
  
Dearest Maya -  
  
Hello, Little Sister. I was relieved and delighted  
when I received Teren's message in the last data  
stream that you are alive and well. After hearing  
of the slaughter of the Maquis, I was afraid to hope  
that you had somehow managed to survive. But  
you were always Father's favorite, so perhaps  
he watched over you during those difficult times.  
  
Congratulations on your marriage; I'm certain  
your Esteban is an honorable man. Teren tells  
me that he is from our mother's home planet  
Trebus, and shares your gift for healing. I hope  
one day I will have the pleasure of welcoming  
him to the family in person. And if the Spirits  
are willing, you will begin another generation  
to carry on your work.  
  
Have I told you how proud I am that you are  
a doctor? You had mentioned years ago wanting  
to find a way to undo the damage done to Dorvan V  
by the Cardassians. Your ultimate goal was to  
return home and rebuild the colony. Given the  
destruction of our home world, I did not think there  
would be anything to return to. But your descriptions  
of the efforts to rebuild Dorvan V are certainly  
encouraging. The new villages being created and  
the growing population would seem to indicate  
that our people may yet rise from the ashes and  
restore the life that was stolen from us by the  
Cardassians.  
  
I can only imagine the questions you have about  
what transpired six years ago, and how I wound  
up on a Federation starship in the Delta Quadrant.  
Perhaps the simplest way to tell the tale would be to  
start at the beginning.  
  
By now you have most certainly heard the story  
of the mysterious disappearance in the Badlands  
of both my vessel the Freedom as well as Voyager.  
Of all the outcomes I imagined for my fate in the  
Maquis, being transported to the opposite end of  
the galaxy by an unknown alien was not among  
them. The Sky Spirits must have been on my side  
that day, however, as aside from some minor  
damage to the ship and a slightly battered crew,  
I escaped the transport with no casualties.  
Unfortunately, Voyager's crew was not as lucky,  
and almost a third of the officers on board were  
killed in the transition from the Alpha Quadrant.  
It was this loss that prompted Captain Janeway  
to make the decision to integrate the Maquis into  
her crew. My surprise at her offer to join our crews  
was only surpassed when she requested that I  
accept the position of her First Officer. With the  
lack of alternatives, I agreed. I had sacrificed my  
own ship to protect Voyager, and spending my time  
on the bridge of a Federation ship was certainly  
preferable to spending it in the brig.  
  
It wasn't easy at first, for any of us. The Maquis  
were resentful at having to wear uniforms that  
represented everything we had been fighting against,  
and the Starfleet personnel were mourning the  
loss of their crewmates. There was suspicion  
and mistrust; nerves were frayed and tempers  
flared. And Captain Janeway and I were having  
difficulty getting past the issues of "your crew vs.  
my crew" when protocol issues arose. But as time  
passed, we gradually began to put the past behind  
us and pose a united front for the crew. Eventually  
a friendship grew from our forced professional  
alliance, and it has grown into the most amazing  
relationship I have ever known.  
  
It's hard to describe my feelings for Kathryn.  
From enemies to allies and now best friends, she  
and I have had more than our fair share of hurdles  
to overcome. I respect her more than anyone I've ever  
known. She's intelligent, brave, inquisitive and  
beautiful. She has made me alternately both th  
happiest and angriest I have ever been, and I have  
never regretted my decision to follow her. And yes,  
I was in love with her, for a time. On some level   
I still am, but it has changed over the years, as   
have Kathryn and I. Blind adoration has tempered  
into silent appreciation and deep affection, a   
more mature type of emotion than the near worship   
I initially felt. A little older and a great deal   
wiser, I understand now that an intimate relationship   
with Kathryn would not have survived some of the   
storms we have weathered. Yet I am honest enough   
to admit that I still hold onto the hope that the   
end of this journey through the Delta Quadrant will   
bring the beginning of our journey together through   
the rest of our lives. And given her recent actions,   
perhaps it is a hope that Kathryn shares as well.   
Only time will tell.  
  
Along with Kathryn, the crew is full of many   
fascinating characters, many of whom I am pleased  
to call friends.  
  
B'Elanna Torres is our Chief Engineer, and is married  
to our best pilot, Tom Paris. On the surface they go  
together about as well as oil and water - she's got  
the temper of her half Klingon heritage and he treats  
life as a game only he can play - but somehow they've  
managed to build strong foundation for their future.  
Tuvok is our Chief of Security; a typical stoic  
Vulcan on the outside, but as loyal and honest as   
anyone I've ever known on the inside. Our Chief   
Medical Officer is actually a hologram, yet   
he's sentient and has a zest for life matched by  
few flesh and blood beings. Speaking of which, he  
apparently has developed feelings for our resident   
former Borg drone, an attractive young woman  
named Annika Hansen, who prefers to be addressed  
by her Borg designation Seven of Nine. Neelix is  
our resident 'court jester' and morale officer. He's a  
member of a species called Talaxians - not much to  
look at but he has the biggest heart you could ever hope  
to encounter. And of course, there's Harry Kim - Ops  
officer and eternal optimist. He started out as green as  
grass, but his experiences on Voyager are shaping him  
into an excellent officer.  
  
Well, duty calls, so I have to go. I pray that this letter  
finds all well with you and yours. My thoughts are with  
you.  
  
Chakotay  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Kathryn Janeway set the last PADD down on her desk and settled comfortably back   
into her chair. It had been a good session. Each department report had been   
read, commented upon and approved. It had taken a little less than three hours   
to go through this week's pile and that included a conference link with Neelix   
in the mess hall and Ensign Chell in security. It seemed that the Bolian had   
some imaginative ideas about the opening ceremonies of the upcoming Delta   
Quadrant Olympics he wanted to share with Voyager's morale officer and   
co-incidentally, one of the co-chairs of the event. Neelix, initially wary, had   
been convinced to give the Ensign a chance to prove himself, and indeed had   
become quite enthusiastic at the prospect of working with another 'creative   
spirit'. Janeway grinned. She wondered whether she should look forward to the   
Olympics or dread them. She had managed to convince the enthusiastic Talaxian   
that a marathon biathlon was out of the question, especially for his commanding   
officer. But she still wasn't sure about what he would come up with in its   
place.  
  
She had one more task left, but this one was not onerous at all. Janeway pushed   
herself away from her desk, stood up and walked across her ready room.  
  
"Coffee, Janeway, special." She directed the replicator, and couldn't suppress a   
satisfied smile when the mug of steaming liquid materialized before her. "That's   
more like it," she told the machine. She picked up the cup, headed towards her   
sofa and sat down. From an antique wooden secretary on the table next to her she   
removed some heavy stationary and a pen. The box had set her back one week's   
replicator rations, but she didn't regret the expense for a moment. She arranged   
herself comfortably on the couch, propped the box carefully on her knees and   
arranged the paper on its top.  
  
  
From: Captain Kathryn M. Janeway,  
Commanding Officer, U.S.S.Voyager  
NCC-74656  
To: Mrs. Phoebe J. Robbins  
Router heading: Sector 001; Earth; Indiana;  
187115957  
Stardate 54382.4  
  
  
Personal and Confidential  
  
Dear Phoebe,  
  
I know it's been a while since I've written.  
As you'd expect, I've been busy . . . with  
everything, and with nothing. It's hard to  
describe the rhythm of daily life on board a  
ship, something I haven't attempted to do  
since my first posting as an ensign more  
years ago now than I care to remember. But  
Voyager is at once the same and yet very  
different from every other vessel I've ever  
been on.  
  
We travel through space in our little insular  
community, concerned with the doings of just  
150 odd individuals. Despite the monthly  
datastream that Starfleet sends us we're  
still so isolated. I still find it incredible  
that an entire quadrant-enveloping war has  
swept through and left downtrodden empires  
and new regimes in its wake while we  
ourselves have experienced none of it. If you  
had asked me seven years ago what the next  
war facing the Federation would entail, I may  
have guessed at the unstable Cardassian  
alliance as being a flash point, but not to  
the extent of what this war eventually  
became. The Dominion, the Breen . . . one  
just a mysterious rumor from the Gamma  
quadrant, the other a power closer to home  
that we never quite understood. And to  
envision the Romulan Star Empire fighting  
alongside the Federation--what a strange new  
world we're going to find ourselves in one  
day.  
  
And who knows how long or far off that day is  
going to be. The vast distances separating us  
from the Alpha Quadrant never quite seemed  
real, at least in the beginning. I think for  
the first couple of years, in between  
staving off disaster, we kept expecting to  
suddenly fall into a wormhole which would end  
up leaving us within a stone's throw of  
Earth, or else encounter some amazingly  
advanced beings who'd send us home in the  
blink of an eye. Nice fantasies, but not very  
practical. Especially the latter--though I've  
met Q and I will say he is indeed as capricious,  
and as dangerous to trust, as all the early  
reports made him out to be. No, we no longer  
put our faith in false gods but rather look to  
our own strengths and abilities instead.  
  
In nearly seven years of journeying, we've  
managed to cover half the distance from the  
Ocampan homeworld where the Caretaker's  
energy beam deposited us. Some of it has been  
by luck, or chance, but we have managed to  
make purposeful progress on our own. I don't  
think it's going to take another 25 to 30 years--  
perhaps another decade or two at most is the  
most recent prediction, and in my more  
unguarded moments there are times that I  
actually believe it myself.  
  
But why am I boring you with these late night  
ramblings? There's something about the old-  
fashioned construct of putting pen to paper--  
don't laugh, though you are undoubtedly  
snickering at my expense reading this,  
remembering the older sister who couldn't be  
bothered with her family's Traditionalist  
customs and habits. Would you be surprised to  
hear that over the years there has been more  
than one occasion I've written my captain's  
log in such a primitive fashion? There's just  
something about the permanence of such a  
medium that helps me to stay connected to my  
humanity. Especially at times when it's been  
put to the test.  
  
I had one such experience not too long ago,  
when we had a rather unexpected encounter  
with a Cardassian warship. Without breaching  
any security clearances I can tell you it was  
an old style vessel, obviously pulled in by  
the Caretaker a good 30 years earlier, right  
around the time of the Nyakkan Conference. I  
know that name has some significance for you.  
One of the last conferences attended by  
Admiral Edward Janeway, and irony of ironies,  
the Cardassian Gul was familiar with Dad--and  
our family as well. He actually asked me,  
"Are you the scholar or the hellion?" Humph.  
Maybe if I'd staked my claim as being the  
hellion the outcome would have been a little  
different...Lest you think it was a pleasant  
reunion, think again. It's not that no one  
ever told these Cardassians that the war was  
over; rather they reacted as you would expect  
someone in their isolated and desperate  
position to behave, and I allowed sentiment  
to cloud my initial judgment. But all's well  
that ends well, right? I'm safe and sound,  
with the exception of another molar I really  
had no need for anyway, and perhaps one day  
my first officer and chief of security will  
stop blaming themselves.  
  
Anyway. How are you doing? The pictures from  
Kathy's birthday party last month were  
wonderful. She's a beautiful little girl,  
Phoebe. I know you say she looks like me, but  
she's got Mom's eyes. I'm glad she liked the  
Flotter doll. You sounded nervous--what'd you  
think I was going to do, buy my three year  
old niece a Starfleet class astral analyzer?  
Give me some credit. She has to be at least  
six before she could even lift one of those.  
  
I'm just glancing over your last letter to me  
--good grief, Phoebe, you never were one to  
mince words, let alone now that I'm a good  
28,000 light years away. As I've told you  
previously, I'm the captain of the ship. They  
look to me to set the tone, the direction, to  
make sure that things are running smoothly.  
Of course I have friends! What do you think,  
I spend each evening alone in my cabin  
looking at old holoimages? Honestly. This goes  
back to what I was saying earlier, about the  
type of community we've forged here aboard  
Voyager. I don't think I've ever felt more  
connected to the people I've served with...Any  
personal involvement of the kind you keep  
hinting at, however, dear sister, is not  
feasible precisely because of the  
responsibilities I have now. But please  
believe me when I say my life is still busy  
and fulfilling, if a little lacking in some  
of the other things at the moment. But as Mom  
always used to say, we can't always get what  
we want; but if we're lucky we just might  
find what we need.  
  
I'm getting toward the end of my space  
allotment. My chief engineer has co-opted  
the major portion of this month's datastream allocation.  
Tell Mom I won't have a chance to write her till next  
month. And please reassure her for me that  
I'm as well as can be expected and am doing  
my damnedest to get home soon.  
  
All my love,  
Kathryn  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Two! Only two!" wailed the EMH.  
  
"I'm sorry, Doctor. That's the rule. Two per person this month. We've got a big   
tech transmission going out to the engineers at Starfleet Command, so there's   
not much room for other messages."  
  
"But it's critical that my letters go out this month, Ensign Kim!"  
  
"Well, I can check with the captain, I guess. How many do you have to send?"  
  
"Only twelve."  
  
"TWELVE!!!! You've got twelve letters to send to the Alpha Quadrant?"  
  
"They're very short, Ensign."  
  
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "I didn't know he knew twelve people to write   
to," he muttered under his breath, as he tapped his comm badge. "Kim to Janeway   
. . ."  
  
The Doctor sniffed archly, but he was confident that Harry would obtain the   
captain's permission for him to send his letters. He was stunned when he heard   
Janeway's decision.  
  
"Five! That's all? Only five?"  
  
"That's three more than anybody else is going to get. Where are they going,   
anyway?"  
  
"Earth. Mars. All sorts of places. Are you sure you can't . . ."  
  
"Pick the five most important to send out now, Doc. That's all I can do. Send   
the rest next month."  
  
Grumbling, the Doctor struggled for a while, but he finally managed to choose   
the five most likely to produce the desired results.  
  
  
From: EMH  
U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
Router Heading: Starfleet Command; Earth;  
To: Mr. Jameson Whitfield-Wilson-Jones  
Flights of Fancy, Ltd.  
7147 Piccadilly Circus  
London, England, British Isles WK9L54  
Terra  
  
  
Dear Mr. Whitfield-Wilson-Jones,  
  
In response to your recent advertisement in  
the cyberzine "Holographic Adventurer," I  
wish to offer your company the opportunity to  
purchase a work of stunning creativity and  
importance. In my travels as the Chief  
Medical Officer for the Starship Voyager, I  
have been able to research this story in my  
downtime hours. It is very close to my heart  
(so to speak), as you can well imagine.  
  
This holoprogram is designed to educate,  
edify, and enrich the spirit of humanoid and  
holographic beings throughout the Alpha  
Quadrant. It cannot fail to please you and  
your program users.  
  
If you are interested in obtaining more  
information about this program prior to  
making an offer, feel free to contact me in  
care of U.S.S. Voyager, c/o Pathfinder  
Project, Starfleet Command, San Francisco,  
California, 94103-4774-5437, Terra. Thank you  
for your consideration.  
  
Very truly yours,  
Emergency Medical Hologram  
U.S.S. Voyager--NCC-74656  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Seven is in good form today. The thought came to Janeway as the velocity ball   
ricocheted off of two walls and almost got past her again. Kathryn could feel a   
bead of sweat trickle down her temple as she stepped to the left and extended   
her racquet as far as possible, barely maintaining control of the return.  
  
Seven's own hair was slightly disheveled, but she till managed to converse while   
playing. This was "their time" as Janeway put it, and Seven valued the specified   
time to delve into questions that might be uncomfortable if asked in public.   
Even after so much time on Voyager, Seven still struggled occasionally with the   
social situations on ship.  
  
"Captain, I was wondering," she hit the ball, "what is the purpose of sending   
letters to the alpha quadrant every month?  
  
Janeway caught the ball on her racquet after the first ricochet and returned it.  
  
"Support."  
  
Seven returned the ball again, "You require support? Are you tired?"  
  
It was because Seven had started towards Janeway to assist her that she did not   
see the fast moving velocity ball angling for her. So when bounced squarely off   
of her temple, it nearly knocked Seven completely off of her feet.  
  
Janeway moved quickly to keep Seven upright.  
  
"No, we send letters home for emotional support."  
  
As Seven steadied herself, Janeway released her. "You have spoken many times   
about the closeness felt by your crew. Do you not have sufficient emotional   
support among them?"  
  
Janeway paused to consider this. It was true. Her crew were probably as close as   
any crew in the fleet could be. Their survival required them to be   
interdependent. So then why did they jump at the chance to talk to the people   
back home? "I suppose we turn to different people for different types of   
support. Not everyone is equally adept at handling every issue. The people back   
home fill in the gaps for us that the crew out here has been unable to fill.   
Despite everything this crew has been through out here, there are some common   
experiences that many people only share with few others. Those are the people we   
keep close to us, and who we turn to in times of specific need."  
  
"Perhaps that is why I have not desired to communicate more with the alpha   
quadrant. I lack common experiences with the people there."  
  
"Maybe," Janeway agreed. "But maybe you just haven't thought about it enough.   
There are certainly people in the alpha quadrant with whom you share the bond of   
family, or perhaps the intellectually gifted. Give it some thought, Seven. We   
still have a few hours before the transmission goes out."  
  
"I will."  
  
Janeway handed Seven the velocity ball pointedly. "It's your serve."  
  
  
From: Seven of Nine,  
Civilian Adjunct, U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
To: Captain Jean-Luc Picard,  
U.S.S. Enterprise-E  
Router: Alpha Quadrant, Sector 001, Earth, Starfleet  
HQ, APO Forward  
118747351  
Stardate 54382.4  
  
  
Dear Captain Picard,  
  
Although we have not been introduced, we  
have met, in a manner of speaking. At that  
time, your designation was Locutus and mine  
was Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to  
Unimatrix One. I was in the Collective mind  
with you. Since that time, I have been severed  
from the Collective and restored to individuality,  
as you have been. Currently I am a member of  
the crew of USS Voyager under Captain Janeway  
in the Delta Quadrant.  
  
I tell you this to explain my reason for writing  
to you. To my knowledge, there is no other  
Human who has returned to individuality  
following full assimilation. Even Captain  
Janeway was subjected to only partial  
assimilation and in any event, her experience  
is not relevant to my purpose. I write to ask  
for your candid assessment of how I would be  
accepted if Voyager returned to Earth in the  
immediate future.  
  
It is true that the ship remains approximately  
twenty-eight thousand light years from Earth.  
However, now that regular communication with  
Starfleet has been established, many in the crew  
believe that we will find a way to reduce the time  
typically needed for that journey. If so, we will  
return to a world in which memories of Borg  
assaults are still fresh. Wolf 359 was only twelve  
years ago and there was a direct assault on Earth  
only five years ago. I had hoped that by the time  
we arrived, these events would have faded into the  
past. It now seems I must consider other  
possibilities, and I wish to be prepared.  
  
My association with the Borg is easily discerned by  
the remaining external implants visible in several  
places on my body. I was assimilated as a small child  
and as a result some Borg components have become  
integral to my physical being. Voyager's Doctor, who  
is both skilled and resourceful, has successfully  
removed 87% of the cybernetics added through  
assimilation, but the remaining 13% are necessary  
to sustain me. It is for this reason that I continue to  
use the designation Seven of Nine; I am no longer  
truly Borg, but neither am I truly Human.  
  
My question is not posed lightly. When I first came  
aboard Voyager, a few of the crew accepted me  
without fear; most, however, viewed me with  
suspicion and mistrust. With time and close  
association I have overcome that antipathy. I  
believe I can regard Voyager as a microcosm of  
Federation society, and that upon our return a  
similar reaction will occur: a few will accept me as  
an individual but the majority will consider me an  
enemy. Unlike Voyager, I will not have the luxury  
of time and close association to change their minds.  
  
I was content with this conclusion until a few months  
ago, when it was suggested to me that I may be viewed  
as a symbol of hope to those who have lost family to  
assimilation. For a time I drew comfort from that  
thought, but then I realized it is contradictory to what  
I have already experienced. I must admit, I am confused.  
Captain Janeway has been my mentor but circumstances  
dictate that she cannot know the current attitudes in the  
Alpha Quadrant. Also, I suspect she would "sugar coat"  
her answer to spare me emotional turmoil.  
  
I do not wish to be spared; I wish only an honest  
assessment so that I can plan my future accordingly.  
You are, I believe, the only person in a position to  
respond to my question with a knowledgeable and  
candid answer.  
  
Thank you for your attention. I look forward to  
hearing from you.  
  
Sincerely,  
Seven of Nine  
  
  
  
  
  
  
From: EMH/ECH  
U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
Router Heading: Starfleet Command; Earth;  
To: Ms. Colleen Murphy O'Hanlon  
Holographic Adventures Unlimited, Inc.  
7777 Lakeside Avenue  
Suite 44-C  
Cleveland, Ohio 44144-4477-5001  
Terra  
  
  
My Dearest Ms. O'Hanlon,  
  
In response to your recent advertisement in  
the cyberzine "Holographic Adventurer," I  
wish to offer your company the opportunity to  
purchase a work of stunning creativity and  
importance. In my travels as the Chief  
Medical Officer for the Starship Voyager, I  
have been able to research this story in my  
downtime hours. It is very close to my heart  
(so to speak), as you can well imagine.  
  
This holoprogram is designed to educate,  
edify, and enrich the spirit of humanoid and  
holographic beings throughout the Alpha  
Quadrant. It cannot fail to please you and  
your program users.  
  
If you are interested in obtaining more  
information about this program prior to  
making an offer, feel free to contact me in  
care of U.S.S. Voyager, c/o Pathfinder  
Project, Starfleet Command, San Francisco,  
California, 94103-4774-5437, Terra. Thank you  
for your consideration.  
  
Very truly yours,  
Emergency Medical Hologram  
U.S.S. Voyager--NCC-74656  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tom Paris sat in the farthest corner of the mess hall nursing a rapidly cooling   
cup of hot chocolate. The room was empty - the last dinner shift long over - and   
Neelix was nowhere in evidence. B'Elanna was still in engineering. She'd warned   
him she was going to be late. He knew she was working on something big, but so   
far she hadn't elected to share whatever it was with him. And amazingly enough,   
he realized, although he was very curious to know what it was, he was willing to   
wait for her to tell him. Just a few months ago he would have been all over her   
to reveal, tell, spill or at least give him a hint. Things were so different   
now. He was... he thought about it for a moment... he was relaxed. And he   
trusted her. And, most importantly, she trusted him.  
He started to write:  
  
  
From: Lieutenant j.g. Tom Paris  
U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
To: Dr. Gregory Paul Andersen  
Router Heading: Sector 010 Christchurch, NZ  
127764729  
Stardate 54382.4  
  
  
Dear Dr. Andersen,  
  
You were absolutely right (as usual). Your  
letter was a total surprise--but a very  
pleasant one. Of all the people I had the  
"opportunity" to meet at Auckland, you're  
about the only one I would want to hear from  
right now.  
  
I had a really bad moment when I first opened  
the file and saw your name, you know. I  
remembered you chaired the Outmate Review  
Committee. My first thought was that the  
committee had gotten tired of waiting for me  
to get back home to the Alpha Quadrant. You'd  
decided to do my review in absentia and  
ordered me to spend the rest of the trip in  
the brig for overstaying my parole. I know, I  
know. Just another case of Tom Paris  
expecting the worst. I'm sure you've got a  
whole bunch of exotic theories about why I  
thought that, but I think we both know the  
main reason. Anyway, I was relieved when I  
read your letter and found out the real  
reason you wrote.  
  
(Congratulations on your retirement, by the  
way. I hope your new private practice works  
out well for you. Say hello to the missus for  
me. I'm pretty sure anything has to be better  
than being the Director of Psychologists for  
a Federation Rehabilitation Colony, but I  
understand that Christchurch is a beautiful  
place to live.)  
  
I can just see you nodding your head and  
saying, "Get back on track, Tom! Stop running  
away from the subject! Meet it head on." So,  
I'll answer your question. Yes, I really am  
doing as well as the newsvids say I am.  
  
I'm sure you can appreciate the irony. I'm at  
the lowest point of my life. Screwed up my  
career, my family life, everything. Everyone  
I'd ever cared about was out of my life. Then  
I'm told I can take a mission that, at best,  
will get me a "good word" when I want to get  
out of prison, and then I'm back out there  
drifting again. I get lost 70,000 light years  
from home--and everything turns around. I get  
my career back. Get the girl of my dreams.  
Who would believe it? Maybe you're right. I  
had to hit bottom before I could finally  
figure out how it all works. The only down  
side is that I'm heading back to where I was  
a total screw-up. Everybody on this ship  
wants to get home--except me.  
  
Well, maybe not everybody. My wife couldn't  
care less either. I know you've seen her  
picture in the media. (I can't believe our  
wedding was the second story on the newsvids  
the day the news came through on the data  
stream, right after the President's State of  
the Federation message!) She's gorgeous,  
isn't she? And just as smart and sharp as she  
is beautiful. She keeps me on my toes, that's  
for sure. I'm sure you'd have a field day  
analyzing our relationship. I know half the  
people on this ship love to play that game.  
I'll let you in on a little secret though. We  
were meant for each other. We're just lucky  
both of us managed to get lost in space at  
the same time and in the same place. I don't  
even want to think about how terrible this  
voyage home would be without her.  
  
I have to thank you for a lot, Doc. You kept  
hammering away at me to drop the cynical con  
bit. You always said that inside me was a  
good guy and a good officer, trying to hide  
himself away to keep from getting hurt. It  
wasn't easy, even out here, where I didn't  
have to worry about the old man hanging over  
everything I did and trying to micromanage my  
career. I tried to sabotage myself plenty of  
times out here, too, but this time, I didn't  
do it. Not permanently, anyway. B'Elanna  
wouldn't let me, and neither would the  
captain.  
  
One thing about your letter didn't surprise  
me, Doc. I'm not shocked about your little  
conversation with Captain Janeway at  
Auckland. The truth is, she told me all about  
it herself, a little while ago.  
  
I don't know how much I can tell you about  
our missions; I know some have been stamped  
"Top Secret." This one time, though, I don't  
think is any big deal. Our security officer,  
the EMH, and yours truly crash landed onto a  
planet inside this weird spatial anomaly.  
Time didn't run the same way there, but we  
didn't know that at the time. We thought we'd  
been there for months and that Voyager had  
long since left us behind. The captain isn't  
one to give up easy, though, and we were  
rescued. It turns out we were only gone a  
couple of days. There wasn't any big welcome  
home for us when came back--we hadn't been  
away all that long as far as everyone on the  
ship went, even though Commander Tuvok and I  
thought we were going to spend the rest of  
our lives on a planet where the big item on  
the menu was spiders--morning, noon, and  
night--broiled, sauteed, or in the raw.  
  
I was feeling pretty down that everyone else  
treated it as business as usual. That was the  
time the captain had busted me back down to  
ensign, too--and yes, I did deserve it--that  
old anti-authority thing of mine again--but  
that's another story. Anyway, I was feeling  
pretty sorry for myself when the captain  
called me into her Ready Room to talk it  
over. She told me I'd done a good job (even  
though there wasn't a promotion in sight for  
me yet). She'd always known I had it in me,  
she said.  
  
And that's when she told me about what you'd  
said to her at your meeting that day at the  
penal colony. She thought she'd come on a  
fool's errand. Everyone at Starfleet Command  
insisted I was a worthless, spoiled 'Fleet  
brat' who destroyed everything he touched, but  
she'd come to see me because she didn't have  
any other options. She figured she'd check me  
out, decide I wasn't worth bothering with,  
and then go on her way with a clear  
conscience, knowing that she'd done her best  
to get my help.  
  
But she talked to you first. You told her  
that I may have lost my way, but I had the  
potential to do great things, as long as  
someone truly believed in me and left me  
alone long enough to realize I could do them.  
That you had a really strong hunch this was  
just the thing I needed to show the stuff I  
was made of. And you warned her about my  
attitude, because it wasn't the real me. So  
when she met me, she saw right through my act  
and offered me the mission that changed my  
life. In a very real way, I have you to thank  
for my being on Voyager, and for becoming an  
officer again, and for my happiness with my  
wife. So, this is it. I'm very grateful, Doc.  
  
About after we get home--I'm not even  
thinking that far ahead yet. Ten, maybe  
twenty years from now sounds soon enough for  
me. Then I might not even have to think about  
whether Starfleet would want me to stay or  
not. I could call it a career. I'm not sure  
I'd want to stick around.  
  
B'Elanna and I have been talking about having  
a family. It's not going to happen any time  
soon, we know. That human-Klingon fertility  
incompatibility factor isn't likely to go  
away on its own, so we're not counting on the  
patter of tiny feet right now. We've talked  
it over, though, and as long as we're on  
Voyager, there wouldn't be any problem if we  
did have a baby. We'd be on board the ship  
with our "family" all around us. Everyone  
here would be the kid's aunts and uncles. For  
all the dangers the Delta Quadrant holds, it  
would be worth it.  
  
Once we got home, that would all change. A  
decade ago, serving as a family on board a  
starship was routine. I understand that since  
the Dominion War it's not that way any more.  
One thing I don't want to be is one of those  
Starfleet dads who blows home once every year  
or two, spends six weeks smothering his  
family with all the advice and "fatherly  
guidance" he can squeeze into one visit, and  
expects to make up for all the time he'll be  
away for his next tour that way. I know how  
that goes. No matter how hard he tries, it  
doesn't work out. A kid needs his father  
around more than that. So, if I can't have my  
family on board a Starfleet vessel with me,  
I'm not planning on going on any Starfleet  
vessels at all.  
  
You know, I promised myself that I was just  
going to write you a short answer to your  
letter--say thanks, I'm grateful to you for  
all you've done--thanks for writing--and that  
would be it. Instead, I've written a book.  
How do you do that? You always could get me  
to run off at the mouth and say things I  
never expected to tell anybody in the galaxy,  
let alone a counselor. You haven't lost your  
touch. You must be pretty good at what you  
do, huh? I probably should delete most of  
this stuff and keep it simple. Say the right  
thing--blah, blah, blah, thanks for writing.  
But I'm not going to do that. I owe a lot to  
you, Doc. Being honest with you here is the  
least I can do.  
  
Thanks, Doc. Thanks for everything,  
  
Tom Paris, Lieutenant j.g.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
From: EMH/ECH  
U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
Router Heading: Starfleet Command; Earth;  
Mars Relay 23-B  
To: Miss Valentina DesRosiers DeLaVarese  
FarAway Times and Places  
45 Green Flash Way  
Canal City, Mars 1R83  
  
  
My Dear Miss DeLaVarese (lovely name, by the  
way),  
  
In response to your recent advertisement in  
the cyberzine "Holographic Adventurer," I  
wish to offer your company the opportunity to  
purchase a work of stunning creativity and  
importance. In my travels as the Chief  
Medical Officer for the Starship Voyager, I  
have been able to research this story in my  
downtime hours. It is very close to my heart  
(so to speak), as you can well imagine.  
  
This holoprogram is designed to educate,  
edify, and enrich the spirit of humanoid and  
holographic beings throughout the Alpha  
Quadrant. It cannot fail to please you and  
your program users.  
  
If you are interested in obtaining more  
information about this program prior to  
making an offer, feel free to contact me in  
care of U.S.S. Voyager, c/o Pathfinder  
Project, Starfleet Command, San Francisco,  
California, 94103-4774-5437, Terra. Thank you  
for your very kind consideration.  
  
Very truly yours,  
Emergency Medical Hologram  
U.S.S. Voyager--NCC-74656  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Neelix glanced surreptitiously at the PADD B'Elanna was reading. He knew that no   
one, not even Tom, had any real idea about what she was working on. Speculation   
ran rampant around the ship.  
  
Jenny Delaney had joked that perhaps B'Elanna was writing a torrid Klingon   
romance novel. Ensign Vorik had said something about Vulcans not being curious   
and then mentioned that the Lieutenant had Engineering running stress analysis   
tests on the warp coil. And Hickman had kidded that maybe all she was doing was   
developing a new formula for coffee for the Captain.  
  
The complex equations that he saw on her PADD before she tilted it away, proved   
that B'Elanna definitely was working on something.  
  
"Good morning, Lieutenant."  
  
B'Elanna turned the PADD over as she glanced up at him. "Neelix?"  
  
"I was wondering if you would like a slice of Harast pie. Ayala said it reminded   
him of banana cream pie. And you are so fond of bananas."  
  
"I'll try it. I'm stuck again."  
  
"Maybe I can help?" Neelix offered as he handed her the plate he was  
holding.  
  
She stared at it. "Neelix, banana cream pie is yellow. This is bright red."  
  
He shrugged. "The harast fruit is red." He watched as she poked at it  
then slowly took a bite.  
  
His smile grew at her contented moan. "I'm glad you like it. What are you   
working on?"  
  
"Hope," she whispered as she took another bite.  
  
"Hope??" She didn't seem inclined to answer anymore questions, so he left.   
"Hope?" he repeated to himself as he entered his kitchen and looked around.  
  
He picked up the PADD with the evening's menu. He had to start slicing the   
vegetables soon, but he had something else to do first.  
  
  
From: Neelix  
Morale Officer & Ambassador, U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
To: Federation President, United Federation of Planets  
cc: Admiral Owen Paris  
Router Heading: Sector 001, Earth; San Francisco  
127984723  
Stardate 54382.4  
  
  
Dear Madam President,  
  
I would like to present myself. I am Neelix  
of Rinax, a moon of Talax - and Ambassador  
to the Alpha Quadrant for my people.  
  
I am sure you are asking what  
reasons would a government that is  
over seventy-thousand light years from   
Earth have to send an ambassador so far?  
  
I admit my planet is very far away,  
but I suspect that in the near future the  
distance between our homes will become  
far less significant.  
  
I know Talaxia would welcome the  
opportunity to meet with a delegation  
from the United Federation of Planets.  
  
Since I have lived the past six and a  
third years on the Starship Voyager,   
I am a logical choice as a mediator   
between our two worlds. I feel that I   
understand the rules of both cultures.  
I have served as Voyager's Ambassador  
at large for the past 3 years, and am   
well versed in handling sensitive issues,   
including the Prime Directive.  
  
I regret that I will not be able to  
present my credentials in person until,  
well, I don't know when...But I look   
forward to meeting with you, and I know   
Captain Kathryn Janeway will be more  
than happy to vouch for me.  
  
  
Neelix stopped writing. Just what was he thinking, he wondered? He could easily   
be misinterpreting B'Elanna's cryptic words. And why would the Federation   
President even be interested in the Ambassador from Talaxia? He hadn't been   
appointed by the Talaxian government--his own government probably didn't even   
remember who he was.  
  
He stared at the screen, then hit the save button. He would send it.  
  
After dinner.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
From: EMH/ECH  
U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
Router Heading: Starfleet Command; Earth;  
To: Mr. Rodney L. Perkins  
Dreamtime Productions  
536 Eucalyptus Lane  
Sydney, NSW, Australia 2475-830  
Terra  
  
  
  
G'Day, Mr. Perkins,  
  
In response to your recent advertisement in  
the cyberzine "Holographic Adventurer," I  
wish to offer your company the opportunity to  
purchase a work of stunning creativity and  
importance. In my travels as the Chief  
Medical Officer for the Starship Voyager, I  
have been able to research this story in my  
downtime hours. It is very close to my heart  
(so to speak), as you can well imagine.  
  
This holoprogram is designed to educate,  
edify, and enrich the spirit of humanoid and  
holographic beings throughout the Alpha  
Quadrant. It cannot fail to please you and  
your program users.  
  
If you are interested in obtaining more  
information about this program prior to  
making an offer, feel free to contact me in  
care of U.S.S. Voyager, c/o Pathfinder  
Project, Starfleet Command, San Francisco,  
California, 94103-4774-5437, Terra. Thank you  
for your consideration.  
  
Very truly yours,  
Emergency Medical Hologram  
U.S.S. Voyager--NCC-74656  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
From: Lieutenant Commander Tuvok,  
Chief of Security, U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
To: T'Meni, daughter of Sek  
Router heading: Sector 001; Vulcan; ShiKahr;  
209110644  
Stardate 54382.5  
  
  
Greetings T'Meni,  
  
I am Tuvok, son of Sunak and another T'Meni,  
and father to your father Sek. As your  
grandfather, the duty lies upon me in equal  
measure to see to your proper education and  
upbringing. You are now beginning your  
seventh year. As I am sure you have been  
informed, the culmination of this year is the  
ritual known as the kahs-wan ordeal. It is  
more than a simple physical endurance; your  
survival in the desert, alone and unaided,  
depends as much upon your strength of mind as  
of body. Your successful completion of this  
rite of passage is the first step along the  
path leading to the obligations and  
responsibilities of a Vulcan adult.  
  
However, it is not to admonish you or to  
speak of privations and trials to come that I  
communicate with you today. As you are aware,  
at the time of your birth I was already no  
longer on Vulcan. I had vanished years  
earlier, in a mysterious confluence of events  
which left most of the denizens of the Alpha  
Quadrant convinced that we were dead, swept  
off to a vast distance at which even the  
marital bond between myself and your  
grandmother T'Pel was so faint as to be  
nonexistent. My katra was presumed to have  
been forever lost. Samok, a disciple of  
Surok, once asked when we truly cease to  
exist for those we know and love. Many have  
erred and assumed the answer lies with  
physical death and separation, or the  
cessation of sharing of the flame. But the  
answer truly can be said to be, as long as we  
remember the departed, as long as their image  
remains fresh within our minds, then there is  
no separation.  
  
My daughter, it is through no choice of my  
own that I was not present at your birth,  
that I have missed and continue to miss many  
important milestones in your young life. We  
are Vulcan; we do not rail against fate or  
complain of the gods when life is not to our  
liking. Cth'ya, we accept what is. Yet at the  
same time nothing prevents me from telling  
you that I wish things had been otherwise.  
  
Your father, as well as she who is my wife,  
keep me informed of your studies. I am  
pleased to hear of the development of your  
intellect and of your progress in these and  
other matters. It appears that you will be  
well prepared for the challenges of your  
kahs-wan. I salute you as you near this  
important occasion.  
  
Live long and prosper, daughter of my house  
and heart.  
  
Tuvok  
  
  
Tuvok deactivated the PADD and placed it carefully on the table beside his   
chair. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and gazed thoughtfully out of   
the viewport beside him. He pictured his granddaughter reading her letter. T'Pel   
had sent him a holo-image of the child. She favoured her grandmother, and Tuvok   
was pleased by this. Perhaps she would read his letter while visiting with   
T'Pel; his wife's letters implied there was a closeness between them. He   
imagined the two of them, sitting in the garden of his home, a Vulcan sunset   
casting deep rich colours on the stones around them. T'Meni would lean against   
her grandmother and T'Pel would gently stroke the child's soft cheek. Perhaps   
she would speak to T'Meni of Tuvok, her grandfather.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Naomi?"  
  
"Naomi. I know you're here."  
  
"Aw Mom, I was just at the good part."  
  
Samantha Wildman peeled off her uniform jacket and tossed it onto the couch as   
she made her way across their living quarters towards her daughter's room. She   
leaned against the doorframe and tried to suppress a yawn. Naomi was sitting up   
in her bed, a large PADD clutched in her hand, a half finished glass of milk and   
the crumbly remains of a bedtime snack on the table beside her.  
  
"What...?"  
  
"B'Elanna Torres lent me this really neat novel, Mom. All about Klingons and   
honour and Sto-Vo-Kor and stuff..."  
  
"Are you sure you should be reading that at bedtime, Nomi?"  
  
"Aw Mom." Naomi repeated the mantra that seemed to her mother to be a constant   
refrain these days.  
  
Samantha suppressed a frown and went over to her daughter's desk. She picked up   
a PADD that was lying there and glanced at it quickly.  
  
"Did you finish your letter? The datastream is going out soon."  
  
"No, not yet." Naomi replied. "Give it to me and I'll do it right now."  
  
Samantha debated mentioning that it was past her daughter's bedtime and that she   
should have completed the letter hours ago. Instead she approached the bed and   
handed her daughter the PADD in exchange for the one that her daughter still   
held.  
  
Her reward was immediate and welcome.  
  
"Thanks Mom." Naomi grinned at her.  
  
"Not too late, Nomi." Her mother said and bent down to plant a kiss on her   
daughter's forehead.  
  
"Aw..."  
  
"Mom." Samantha finished for her.  
  
Naomi grinned again.  
  
"Night Mom."  
  
"Good night, Naomi," Sam replied with a smile as she backed out of the door,   
which closed behind her. She sighed. Where was her little girl disappearing to   
so quickly? It seemed only yesterday she spent every spare moment on the   
holodeck with Flotter and Trevis; now it was novels with "good parts." And   
something that B'Elanna had lent Naomi? What sort of novel with "Klingons and   
honor and Sto-Vo-Kor" would B'Elanna want to read? Suddenly curious, Sam flicked   
on the PADD.  
  
She rolled her eyes and groaned as she read the title, "Bonds of Blood and   
Passion." Terrific. A Klingon romance novel. Just what her 6 year old daughter   
needed! First Tom's 20th century action movie obsession, and now love and death,   
Klingon style!  
  
Sam shut the PADD off, then hesitated before setting it on the table. She really   
didn't have much planned for this evening, and her own letter to Greskrendtregk   
was already in the data stream queue . . .  
  
Settling herself onto the couch, Sam turned on the PADD to immerse herself for a   
few hours into the romantic adventures and battles of that star-crossed,   
meant-for-each-other pair, Valdis and Graltok.  
  
  
From: Naomi Wildman  
Captain's Assistant  
U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
To: Greskrendtregk  
Router Heading: Sector 007; Earth  
176322741  
Stardate: 54382.4  
  
  
Hi Dad,  
  
I'm sorry I haven't written to you in a  
while, but I know that Mom always tells you  
what I'm doing.  
  
I'm fine.  
  
I've been really busy recently. Seven of Nine  
has been letting me help her in the  
Astrometrics lab and I'm really enjoying  
that. She doesn't scare me the way she used  
to - I guess now that we've had so many Borg  
on board Voyager, I'm kind of getting used to  
them. As a matter of fact I miss Mezoti and  
Azan and Rebi - they were the other Borg kids  
who were with us for a while. They left earlier this  
year - Captain Janeway found Azan and Rebi's  
people and we made a special detour to drop  
them off. Mezoti decided she wanted to go  
with them. I understand, I think. They had  
been together for so long that they belonged  
together. Icheb stayed though. He's the  
other Borg on Voyager. At least he used to  
be a Borg. I think he's mostly just a boy  
now. And I'm glad he stayed. He's my best  
friend on Voyager. Him and Neelix.  
  
Speaking of Neelix, I had a great time last  
night. He and I stayed in the mess hall  
after the last dinner shift and we made  
chocolate chip cookies. And just when they  
were finished the Captain came in. Neelix  
got out some chocolate ice cream and we had a  
real feast. The Captain said that I deserve  
to be her assistant! That anyone who can  
make chocolate chip cookies like that  
deserves a promotion!  
  
I've been studying really hard recently.  
Icheb has been helping me. He's really  
smart. I'm thinking of taking the Starfleet  
entrance exams. Don't tell Mom. I think she  
thinks I'm still just a little girl. But I'm  
not.  
  
Dad, I wish you'd tell Mom that Ktarians are  
more mature. It would help if you did. The  
other night Lieutenant Paris ran his movie  
program in the holodeck and Mom wouldn't let  
me go. She said I was too young and that it  
was too late. Icheb said the movie was  
archaic and illogical, but entertaining.  
  
I guess that's all for now. I'll try and  
write more often. Last night the Captain  
promised we'd get home soon. And I really  
believe her. So I'm going to say I'll see  
you soon.  
  
I love you Dad.  
  
Naomi  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It was a rare thing to have time alone. And rarer still to know that he had at   
least an hour of it. Both his bunkmates had taken additional duty shifts, trying   
to earn extra replicator rations. They had lost a fair number of them last week   
betting on a shipwide pool tournament. Perhaps, he mused, they should make pool   
one of the events in those upcoming Olympic games. There certainly were enough   
players on board. Maybe he would suggest it to Lieutenant Paris the next time he   
saw him. Or maybe not. He still wasn't quite comfortable enough to try to be   
'one of the guys'. Maybe in time he would feel differently.  
  
But he knew exactly how he planned to spend this precious hour. He cleared a   
space on the couch. His roommates were okay, he thought. But they weren't the   
most organized guys in the cosmos. He pulled a PADD out from under the remains   
of last night's evening snack and activated it.  
  
  
  
From: Cwmn. Noah Lessing,  
U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
To: Miss Hannah Lessing  
Router heading: Sector 001; Luna Colony;  
1862045488  
Stardate 54382.4  
  
  
  
Dear Hannah,  
  
First of all, honey, it's all right if you  
want to use your step-father's name. I wish  
you could see my face instead of just these  
words so you would know I mean it. I  
understand, I really do. You're a whole new  
family now, what with your baby brother and  
all, and it makes sense that you would want  
to have the same name as your mother and  
brother. It doesn't mean you've stopped  
loving me; it just means that things have  
changed.  
  
And no, I don't blame your mother at all for  
getting married again.  
  
Remember, the Equinox had been missing for  
more than six years before word got back to  
her that I was alive and on Voyager. She  
thought I was dead. I'm glad she found a man  
as good and as generous as your stepfather to  
take care of you both. He sent me a letter,  
did you know that? He told me that he  
couldn't love you more if you were his own  
little girl. He knows how lucky he is to  
have you. It's going to be a long time  
before I'm back, maybe not until you're all  
grown up, and I can rest a little easier at  
night knowing that you and your mom are safe  
and happy.  
  
So tell your mom and step-father it's okay to  
go ahead with the adoption if that's what you  
want. Just promise that you'll keep writing  
to me. I miss you so much and I think about  
you all the time. It seems like only  
yesterday that the doctors let me hold you  
for the very first time and you looked up at  
me with those big, beautiful eyes. Your  
mother and I were so thrilled with you.  
  
But I shouldn't be talking about your baby  
years. You're going to be ten years old this  
month. I told Gramma Rose what I wanted to  
give you, and she'll see that it's delivered  
on your birthday. Oh, I wish I could be  
there. Maybe you could send me a holophoto  
next time, if there's room in the data  
stream.  
  
You asked me why I'm only Crewman now  
instead of an officer. Well, it's a long  
story and it has to do with some things that  
happened when I was still on the Equinox. I  
was so anxious to get home to you and your  
mother that I did some things that now I wish  
I hadn't. The important thing is that I learned  
from my mistakes. It may take us longer to  
get home, but you'll be proud of me again.  
I'll tell you all about it sometime, but not  
today. I want this to be a happy letter.  
  
Life on Voyager isn't too different from life  
on any starship in the Alpha Quadrant, except  
that we're out here on our own. And don't  
worry, I do have fun. The ship's cook is  
always throwing some kind or party or  
another, but to be honest I'm not much of a  
party person and I don't know all the people  
on Voyager that well. There's an airponics  
garden and I putter around in that sometimes.  
And we can use the holodeck when we want to.  
I don't do that a lot, though; it seems kind of  
pointless. They're talking about having Olympic  
Games on the ship and Lt. Paris says everyone  
is going to have to do something, but I don't  
know. I'm just trying to keep my head low and  
get my work done, and I'm getting to old to run  
the hurdles any more. Maybe I can be a judge or  
something.  
  
There's a little girl on the ship. Her name is  
Naomi and she was born on Voyager, but she's  
part Ktarian so she's about the same size you  
are. Sometimes she comes to the airponics garden  
while I'm puttering around and she lets me show  
her how take care of the plants. I like to pretend a  
little that she's you, and that we're in the garden  
behind our house in Atlanta. It's silly, I know, but  
it makes me feel a little closer to you.  
  
I have to finish up now. Tell you what - at noon on  
your birthday, you close your eyes and think about me.  
Because at that same exact moment, I'll be here on  
Voyager, with my eyes closed, thinking of you.  
I love you, Hannah, and it doesn't matter what  
your last name is, you will always be my little girl.  
I miss you.  
  
Dad.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
From: EMH/ECH  
U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
Router Heading: Starfleet Command; Earth;  
Luna; Tycho City Data Facility  
CEO  
RealityVisions HoloProductions  
Earthview Office Park  
P.O. Box 70094  
Tycho City, Luna 658-T81  
  
  
  
Dear Mr. CEO,  
  
In response to your recent advertisement in  
the cyberzine "Holographic Adventurer," I  
wish to offer your company the opportunity to  
purchase a work of stunning creativity and  
importance. In my travels as the Chief  
Medical Officer for the Starship Voyager, I  
have been able to research this story in my  
downtime hours. It is very close to my heart  
(so to speak), as you can well imagine.  
  
This holoprogram is designed to educate,  
edify, and enrich the spirit of humanoid and  
holographic beings throughout the Alpha  
Quadrant. It cannot fail to please you and  
your program users.  
  
If you are interested in obtaining more  
information about this program prior to  
making an offer, feel free to contact me in  
care of U.S.S. Voyager, c/o Pathfinder  
Project, Starfleet Command, San Francisco,  
California, 94103-4774-5437, Terra. Thank you  
for your consideration.  
  
Very truly yours,  
Mr. EMH  
Emergency Medical Hologram  
U.S.S. Voyager--NCC-74656  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Engineering was quiet. For the moment, anyhow. B'Elanna had been working   
non-stop since the beginning of her shift. There had been a problem with one of   
the warp nacelles and although she had assigned one of her top teams to work on   
the problem, she had spent more time than she anticipated overseeing the   
repairs. One of the subspace field coils had had to be removed from the   
assembly, thoroughly cleaned and replaced in exactly the same position within a   
very short time or it could have been rendered useless by exposure to possible   
containments. She had followed all the correct protocols for sterilization of   
the area, she and the team had been dressed in the appropriate antiseptic garb,   
but, as she constantly reminded them, "You never knew in the damn D.Q."  
  
She did a quick survey of her domain. The shift had finally ended twenty minutes   
ago. The few crewmen who remained, and the members of the much smaller gamma   
shift were working quietly and efficiently at their stations.  
  
B'Elanna scooped up a pile of PADDS that were sitting precariously on the corner   
of Vorik's console and headed towards her own station. She sat down and began to   
sort through them carefully. She divided them into two piles and set one stack   
aside. She activated the first PADD in the second stack and began to read,   
nodding several times as she did.  
  
"Yes," she muttered to herself. "It just might work."  
  
B'Elanna took a fresh PADD from the shelf beside her and activated it.  
  
  
  
To: Lt. Reginald Barclay,  
SFC, Pathfinder project  
From: Lt. j.g. B'Elanna Torres,  
U.S.S. Voyager  
NCC-74656  
Router heading: Sector 001; Earth; San Francisco.  
127984723  
Stardate 54382.4  
  
  
Hello, Reg,  
  
Thanks for the latest warp core specs you sent  
in the last transmission. And thank you for your letter.  
No, it wasn't too personal. We've traded  
engineering data and theories several times now,  
so I consider you a close colleague, and hopefully a   
friend. I don't have a lot of those back in the   
Alpha quadrant anymore, so I welcome any   
I can get. Guess you already know that, since  
the only person who's written me directly  
besides you is my uncle on Qon'oS, to tell me  
about my mother...  
  
Anyway, this woman you mentioned who left a  
message at Pathfinder headquarters saying she was  
my cousin--well, I have a few cousins, but  
none I'm close to at all. Since the message  
was on an intra-Earth transferal line, she might  
be someone from my father's side. I have a  
cousin named Elizabeth. We played together  
on occasion when I was a child, though I don't  
know why she'd want to write me. I can't imagine  
anyone in my father's family wanting to write me.  
I haven't seen or heard from any of them in well  
over twenty years. Truthfully, I consider Tom and   
everyone on Voyager my family now.  
  
Don't be too bothered because the message  
was deleted. I don't really see any reason to  
start up a correspondence at this late date, though   
Tom thinks I should consider it. He needled me   
about it in fact, even after I shoved him off the   
couch. I know he was trying to be helpful in his   
own way, but he just doesn't understand that my  
family and his are nothing alike.  
  
Okay, I also know he might have a point.  
And you're probably reading this thinking I should  
give her a chance too, aren't you? Fine, have it  
your way. If she contacts Pathfinder headquarters  
again, I suppose you can put her on the authorized list  
you mentioned. Sorry about my lack of enthusiasm,  
but I don't know what we could possibly say to each  
other after all this time. Besides, she probably  
contacted Pathfinder on a whim and won't call back  
anyway, or maybe she had the wrong person  
altogether.  
  
I hope you don't mind if I change the subject now.  
I wanted to thank you for something else, Reg--what  
you wrote about working with Admiral Paris. I know  
you were just recounting the project's progress,  
but it was an eye-opener seeing the Admiral from  
your perspective (that's what Tom calls him most of the  
time, only partly in jest, "The Admiral"). He's written to   
Tom of course, but I'm sure you know Tom and his father  
have a...complicated history. Their letters to each other   
have tended to be polite and superficial, unlike the ones   
Tom has exchanged with his mother or his sisters. I can   
understand it, since the issues between Tom and his   
father aren't the kind that can be resolved in letters.   
They're the kind that won't be put completely to rest  
until the two of them are able to meet face to face again.  
  
Your account of working with Admiral Paris, and the   
way his stoic, no-nonsense exterior doesn't hide his  
fierce dedication to the project and to getting Voyager   
home--well, let's just say Tom read those particular   
paragraphs a dozen times. You and I both know--  
and deep down Tom knows--that Admiral Paris   
hasn't given up his other Command postings and  
duties, and devoted nearly every waking hour to   
the Pathfinder project, all to get one small ship   
among the many hundreds of ships in the fleet back   
to Earth. No matter what he may say in public, and   
despite the fact that getting the rest of us home will   
be gratifying for him, he's put his heart and soul   
into this for one reason--to get his son back.  
  
Your words helped me see Admiral Paris a little more  
clearly too. In his letters he's tacitly welcomed me  
into his family--as has everyone in Tom's family--but  
I have to admit I still felt a little doubtful about his  
response. Now I feel more certain that he does  
care about Tom's welfare and happiness, deeply.  
I hope that means he really does accept me, like  
you said. I don't know many Starfleet admirals  
who would welcome a half-Klingon ex-Maquis  
Academy dropout with a quick temper as a   
daughter-in-law.  
  
Space is more limited than usual for this transmission,  
so I have to end this letter soon. I do have two favors to  
ask of you. Can you please tell Admiral Paris that  
Tom will send a letter to his family next month? This  
month he felt it important to answer a letter from an  
old acquaintance.  
  
My other favor has to do with Voyager. I have  
an idea how we might be able to get the ship home faster.  
It's in the germinal stage right now, and I don't want  
to get anyone's hopes raised too much, so please keep this  
between us for the moment. With the captain's  
permission I'm sending you some raw data. When you   
see it I think you'll understand where I'm going.  
  
To go any further though, I need your help. Can you  
send me whatever research you can find on the  
latest warp field generation material bonding techniques?  
I'd be grateful if you could send the information in  
the next transmission. Also, it would be helpful if  
you could commandeer the Lunar Very Large Array  
and search for any Type 4 neutron stars in Voyager's  
expected flight path--preferably ahead of us  
by about a thousand light years, and within a cylindrical  
segment of our flight path by a hundred light years.  
I know it's a lot to ask, but it could make a difference of  
fifteen or twenty years in our journey home, or  
maybe more.  
  
Thanks again, Reg, for everything. Good luck with  
that patent application and with your new apartment.  
Feel free to write me again, or Tom, or anyone on  
Voyager. Even the captain. She can't say enough  
good things about you. Believe me, you're everyone's  
hero here, and the first person whose hand we all want to  
shake when we get home.  
  
Take care,  
  
B'Elanna Torres  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Epilogue  
  
The monthly exchange through the datastream proceeded smoothly as usual, and   
shortly the final part of the process was underway. In fact, Harry was just   
about finished with his rounds. This particular duty, which he'd taken on a few   
months earlier, ranked as one of his favorites.  
  
As much as he enjoyed filtering and interpreting data, in this case he was now   
happy to let Seven focus on decrypting the official Starfleet transmission while   
he helped Neelix deliver the personal letters that had come through the   
datastream.  
  
The best part about delivering the letters was seeing the reactions on the faces   
of his crewmates and friends. Joe Carey's open delight at the monthly letter   
from his wife and sons, Captain Janeway's smile of anticipation at the letter   
from her sister, Karen Jarvis's quiet pleasure at the letter from her fiancé,   
who had waited for her and was determined to keep doing so for as long as it   
took, Tom's casual acceptance of a letter from his parents that didn't quite   
hide his eagerness to read it, Tuvok's impassive response to his letter from   
home that was no more believable than Tom's feigned indifference--they were just   
a few of the hundred- thirty something reactions that greeted him each month. He   
loved watching them all.  
  
The delivery rounds generally took him from an hour to two hours to complete,   
depending on the number of letters received, and how many minutes he passed   
chatting with this crewmate or the other. Neelix handled the large group of   
off-duty crew who always gathered in the mess hall, while Harry took care of   
those currently on duty. Over the past hour and forty minutes he'd worked his   
way through the ship in his usual pattern, from the top--the bridge--all the way   
down to engineering. Now he had only one letter left in his possession, besides   
the letter from his parents that he planned to read after his shift while he   
relaxed with a hot cup of Darjeeling tea.  
  
Harry spotted his final recipient in the far corner of engineering--or at least   
part of her, in the form of one boot protruding from the entrance of a Jeffries   
tube--exactly where Mulcahy had said she'd be. He called out in greeting as he   
approached, "Hey, Maquis."  
  
B'Elanna mumbled something--probably a curse--as she repositioned herself in the   
tight confines. Then she stuck her head out of the Jeffries tube. "Hey,   
Starfleet."  
  
Harry held out a PADD. "This last letter's for you."  
  
He could tell from her expression that she wasn't expecting a letter, though she   
looked curious as she took the PADD from him.  
  
"Reg?" he asked as she activated the display. B'Elanna and Reg Barclay had been   
exchanging technical information and "talking" engineering back and forth for   
several months now.  
  
B'Elanna stared mutely at the display for several moments, her expression one of   
mild astonishment. Finally, she shook her head. "It's from my uncle."  
  
"The one on Qo'noS?" Harry knew that uncle--K'nar, or something like that--had   
sent B'Elanna confirmation of her mother's death a couple months ago.  
  
B'Elanna nodded slowly. "He wants to know about my life here."  
  
"That's great," Harry replied, though he couldn't tell from B'Elanna's bemused   
frown if she was pleased about it or not. Still, he was glad someone in her   
family wanted to keep in touch with her.  
  
B'Elanna shrugged, though her effort at nonchalance was less than convincing.   
"I'll read it later," she said gruffly as she shut off the PADD. Then she gave   
Harry a crooked smile. "So, are you still mad at me?"  
  
It took Harry a second to realize that she was talking about the datastream. He   
shook his head. "I was never mad, exactly." Just a little disappointed that he'd   
had to put off his video letter. "But I am curious to know why you needed so   
much space this month."  
  
"I'm working on a...theory," B'Elanna said, being evasive again. "But as soon as   
I figure out if it's viable, I promise I'll tell you all about it."  
  
Harry decided to wheedle a little. "I don't suppose you want to give me just a   
little hint about your mystery theory?"  
  
B'Elanna cocked her head. "You want to get home faster, don't you?"  
  
Harry's eyebrows rose. Something to do with propulsion then. "How much faster?"  
  
B'Elanna grinned. "A whole lot faster, Harry."  
  
He was all in favor of that possibility. "You know I'll do anything I can to   
help."  
  
"Don't worry, when--if--the time comes, I'll take you up on that offer. Now,   
I've got to get back to work." Clearly having said all she was going to say,   
B'Elanna set the PADD containing her uncle's letter aside-- carefully Harry   
noticed--and disappeared back into the Jeffries tube.  
  
The idea of getting home much faster than the twenty-five or more years still   
facing them put a spring in Harry's step, added to the one that was always there   
on the day the letters arrived through the datastream. Getting home had always   
been the crew's top priority, and it still was. In the meantime, their regular   
contact with the Alpha quadrant brought them all a great measure of comfort.   
True, the contact was long distance in the most literal meaning of the word, and   
it wasn't the same as physically being with their families and friends back   
home. As the "next best thing" though, it was pretty darned good.  
  
Harry passed several engineers he'd spoken with a few minutes earlier. Some of   
them were still avidly reading the letters he'd delivered, and he smiled at a   
job once again completed to his immense satisfaction. Then he left engineering   
and headed back to his regular post on the bridge, whistling a low tune all the   
way.  
  
  
  
  
  
Addendum: Harry (Rick and Christina), Chakotay (Andra Marie), Kathryn Janeway   
(Rocky), EMH (Jamelia), Seven (Penny and Rick), Tom Paris (Jamelia), Neelix   
(Christina), Tuvok (Rocky), Naomi (Cybermum), Noah (Penny), B'Elanna (Rick and   
Juli17) Prologue and Epilogue (Juli17), interludes (everyone)  
  
  
  
  
Next: Legacies by Jamelia and Juli17. 


End file.
